


seventeen minutes in heaven

by aerialiste



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Episode: s01e01 The River's Edge, F/F, First Time, High School, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Literal Closeted Characters, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 08:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9482813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerialiste/pseuds/aerialiste
Summary: “You said you trusted me,” Veronica said, scanning Betty’s face; her eyes were wide and her strawberry-glossed lips were parted, but Veronica wasn’t seeing fear or aversion, just curiosity. “Do you still?”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shiphitsthefan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/gifts).



> I'm Beronica trash and I'm not even sorry.

The bottle came to a stop, pointing straight at Veronica. Surely Cheryl’s evil powers didn’t extend to dominating space and time, but for that bare second Veronica wouldn’t have put it past her.

She could totally handle Cheryl. She’d seen girls acting like this before—had done worse herself,—and for whatever reason, probably unknown even within her tiny red-haired peabrain, Cheryl had made it her personal Satanic mission to destroy Betty’s social life. Whatever. Veronica wasn’t letting that happen. She wasn’t starting her career at Riverdale by hurting the one person for whom she already felt an inner softness, something suspiciously like tenderness.

Instead, Veronica decided, glaring at the bottle, she was going to rewrite Cheryl’s stupid little princess-rules book. Archie probably _would_ have made out with her, too; he was clearly gripped in the throes of some hormonal inability to think his way out of a wet paper bag. Which, fine, Veronica respected an honest slut—but Archie wasn’t being thoughtful about it, and was probably going to leave a trail of broken hearts and STDs across town, without even stopping once to consider Betty’s feelings. So it was up to Veronica.

And when things were up to Veronica, she’d long ago realized, they generally turned out quite well.

“You know what,” she said, grabbing a surprised Betty’s hand, “looks like the bottle is pointed right between us. We couldn’t possibly ask Archie to cope with all this female pulchritude, so come on, Betts.” She pulled Betty unresisting up from the sofa and looked straight ahead as she hauled her toward the closet, only peripherally registering the equally stunned expressions of Cheryl and (she allowed herself an instant of smugness) Archie.

“What the—what the heck are you doing,” hissed Betty in a stage whisper, incredulous, as Veronica slammed the door more or less viciously behind them, giving the lightbulb chain a pointed yank and spinning Betty around so her back was against the door. She stepped up into Betty’s space, having to shove a little against the ridiculous pink marshmallow poof of her formal dress skirt.

“You said you trusted me,” Veronica said, scanning Betty’s face for signs of oh-my-god-no-stop-don’t-do-this; Betty’s eyes were wide and her strawberry-glossed lips were parted, but Veronica wasn’t seeing fear or aversion, just curiosity. “Do you still?”

Betty’s eyes got even wider, somehow. “I mean, yeah, I do. Of _course_ I trust you, you just met me but you already got me onto the cheerleading squad which was basically a miracle especially given how bad our routine was and how much Cheryl hates—“

“Good,” interrupted Veronica, and slid her hand around behind Betty’s head to cushion it from the door, trying not to let her voice shake. “So trust me again. And if you want me to stop I’ll stop, you just—”

 _Look so edible tonight, like a fucking macaron_ , she finished in her head, thinking dizzily of gilded bags from La Durée and the melting crumble of rose-petal sugar in her mouth, before threading her fingers through Betty’s blowout and leaning up to press their mouths together.

Betty froze, and for an instant Veronica wondered if the next six and a half minutes were going to be spent awkwardly talking about Halsey, how to apply contour, or the vocab section of the PSATs. But then something seemed to melt, and Veronica felt rather than heard a catch in Betty’s breath, and then— _yes_ —she felt Betty’s hands wind around her bare neck and pull her closer, and their mouths crushed together in a gorgeous smear of perfume and sensation and wetness.

It was a kiss about pink moscato and robin’s egg blue, a kiss like a fresh peach eaten standing over the sink dripping juice. Veronica sort of lost time, Betty’s soft exhalation on her cheek, the sweet slip of a tongue between her lips, a slow finger being dragged along her collarbone. She broke for air and, staring at Betty’s mouth, was surprised when she started laughing quietly.

“I’m really, really glad that wasn’t a fake kiss earlier,” Betty said into Veronica’s mouth, nipping at her lower lip. Veronica felt stunned. She’d taken Betty for a total pillow princess but—

Betty blinked at her. “I wasn’t staring at you all night because I want to know how you get your liquid eyeliner wing so perfect. I mean, I do, but also you have the most beautiful face, your eyes are _backlit_ , like coffee before the cream gets poured in—”

Suddenly Betty had two hands gripped into the black satin of Veronica’s Vera Wang and was shoving her back into the tweed and wool of cedar-smelling coats. “I’ve wanted to do this since the minute I saw you in the diner,” said Betty, and bent her head to suck a kiss into Veronica’s cleavage, letting go of Veronica's dress to cup her breasts through the fabric, reverently at first, then sensually, then assertively, as Veronica writhed beneath her touch.

 _This, this is not what I planned_ , thought Veronica dazedly, and just had time to remind herself that Betty was probably a virgin and she should keep checking in with her, make sure to stop and wrap this up before they left second base, when she felt Betty huff an impatient sound against her cheek and then reach down to shove their skirts out of the way before pressing a thigh between Veronica’s, bare skin against the dampness of black silk. There was still an obscene amount of fabric and Veronica scrabbled for a handhold, somehow managing to pull a trench coat off its hanger and knock over a shoe stand. There were titters outside the closet door, and this more than anything gave her a surge of bright anger that easily veered into lust.

“Betts, wait,” she breathed, and kissed her again, twice, three times, hardly able to pull her mouth off Betty’s yielding one, lips curved beneath her in a smile. “I hate your fucking dress,” she said honestly, and then pressed Betty back against the closet door. “Let me handle this,” she murmured, and then stunned herself by sinking to her knees.

Betty’s fingers flew down as if on instinct to find Veronica’s hair, carding through the silky strands. “Veronica, what are you—we don’t have time—”

“Fuck it,” Veronica said unevenly, and in that instant she meant it. Fuck Cheryl, and fuck Archie, with his white-guy guitar strumming and inability to use his upstairs brain, and fuck that hideous not-once-redecorated-since-the-1940s high school, and especially fuck everyone sitting out there drinking bad vodka and pretending to be adult.

And then all thoughts of second base flew out of her head when she shoved up Betty’s skirt, all the layers of tulle and netting, and realized she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“Betty Cooper, what kind of a girl _are_ you,” she wondered aloud, half to herself. She heard Betty muffle her laughter overhead, slim fingers skimming over the pearls at Veronica’s throat, touching her neck delicately. Veronica shivered when she felt Betty trying to reach all the way down to her breasts again, groping instead at her bare shoulders.

“I don’t know, Veronica Lodge,” Betty responded, sounding a little out of breath, “I just kind of hoped I might get lucky tonight. It was…honestly, it was Kevin’s idea.”

Veronica suddenly flashed back to Betty swaying back-to-front against Kevin at the dance, both of them laughing and talking non-stop, her grinding her hips playfully against his to “Love on the Brain.” Veronica was supposed to be dancing with some guy whose name she hadn’t caught but who seemed to be a linebacker, given the width of his shoulders, but couldn’t take her eyes off Betty’s waist in Kevin’s hands.

 _Oh someone got lucky alright_ , thought Veronica, ignoring everything, even the golf clubs that abruptly fell over with a clatter in their bag, what felt like a putter digging into the small of her back. She wrapped her arms around Betty’s waist and licked a stripe from one knee upward, noticing and filing away for later the neat row of scars lined along the inside of one pale thigh. Betty didn’t say anything, only above her was a soft exhalation, so Veronica leaned forward and pressed her mouth against the fine blonde hairs at the place where those long thighs met, tip of her tongue extended, wanting with her whole being just to sink in and never look back. She forced herself to pause and lean away, ignoring the desperate clench of Betty’s thighs under her hands.

Veronica looked up. “Betts, I really like you. Like, _like_ you like you. And I just—are you sure about this? Because Archie’s out there, and you, and he, and I’m—”

 _—about to ruin you for him, because after I’m done with you, you are going to want me in your bed five nights a week for sleepovers with not that much sleeping. So I might fuck up your GPA, and wreck your diet with creamy linguini and buttery paella, and feed you marzipan and petits fours and mini caramel cupcakes, because oh my god you are the brightest warmest beam of sunlight I’ve encountered in this stupid little town my stupid little mother dragged me to, and nothing’s gone right for the last year of my life,_ nothing _, until you, you and your ridiculously high blonde ponytail and your little see-through gauze shirt and your insisting on giving me a_ tour _and I want to curl up in your lap like a cat and for just five minutes stop this incessant screaming in my head about all the bad shit I’ve done, Betty I’ve been so bad you don’t even know, and if you really trust me does that mean I can trust you back—_

“Oh for Pete’s sake,” Betty said, sounding exasperated, “do I have to do everything myself,” and before Veronica knew what was happening they were in a tangle on the floor, and Betty had kicked the golf clubs out of the way and had reached up under the Vera Wang, struggling with Veronica’s underwear. Someone knocked timidly on the door.

“Go away!” they both yelled, before dissolving into giggles and then panting into each other’s mouths again, tongues winding, Veronica unable to liberate Betty’s breasts from the pink monstrosity, bending her head to suck a nipple into her mouth right through the fabric and bite down gently just to hear Betty moan. Betty shoved her away for a second to angle the golf club bag against the doorknob pragmatically, and Veronica had just an instant to see a surprisingly intent look on Betty’s face before she felt the crook of a finger pulling her panties to one side and then, oh god then, a long firm lick between her pussy lips, and that same finger stroking into her, when even had she gotten so wet—

“I thought you were a virgin,” she gasped, half-propped up against a wall, wrapping her ankles around Betty’s waist. Betty looked up at her, hair wrecked, a half-smile on those full lush lips.

“Define virgin,” Betty said before dipping back down, and Veronica swore she could feel Betty _smiling against her cunt_ before, unable to stop herself from pushing forward, her hips jerked into Betty’s face, and Betty moaned against her, opening her mouth and foregoing any preliminaries to suck once, hard. Veronica clung to Betty’s shoulders, her head hitting the wall with a thunk.

“Seven minutes are up!” Cheryl shrilled outside, and their eyes met again, Betty’s unfocused with pleasure. She shrugged, wiped off her face, and shouted back, “Go find another closet, this one’s occupied,” before returning to Veronica’s clit and addressing it with short hard licks. Veronica’s calves jerked and locked around Betty’s waist. Flailing, she grabbed a clump of Betty’s skirt and stuffed it in her mouth so she wouldn’t scream.

Without stopping, Betty reached up and carefully pulled the fabric away, replacing it with two of her fingers. She whispered so quietly Veronica could barely hear her, her voice sounding a little awed but also completely ravaged. “Please? Can you—just get them—you know—”

This had gone so pear-shaped from Veronica’s original plan, which just included some chaste making-out and maybe, she’d hoped, a glimpse at Betty’s bra, that she could hardly move. It was all happening so fast she couldn’t even be surprised when she felt herself suddenly trembling on the edge of orgasm. Betty must have felt it too, because she pulled her fingers out of Veronica’s mouth and slid them inside her, angled them up inside her cunt, slick and strong, thrusting in carefully and stroking that _fucking spot_. She clamped her mouth down around Veronica, shaking her head side to side and Veronica couldn't not arch her back, she kind of hated Betty for this but dammit if she wasn’t going to give it back to her in triplicate, in _quintuplicate_ , she bit her lip and held her breath to keep from making any sounds more undignified than gasping—

Betty stopped, and Veronica almost cried out. They looked at each other, chests heaving, dresses destroyed. “Can I make you come, Veronica?” Betty said in a low voice, before shoving in again, slow but deep, and then sucking hard, tongue rippling against her—

Veronica clapped both hands over her mouth and rode it out, trying not to grind her cunt into Betty’s face but not succeeding entirely. She heard someone laughing quietly and could only hope it was Betty, but no, it was her, and she was clenching rhythmically around Betty’s hand and her hips were jerking up and down and everything behind her eyes was stars, glitter, disco ball and rainbow highlighter, a snowglobe turned upside down and shaken, all she could think is that she wanted to do this again in Betty’s pastel bedroom with its chintz rose sheets, to come with her face between Betty’s gorgeous breasts, to wake up coming and be late to school, to make Betty come over and over again until she fell asleep in the middle of it late at night, and mostly just to—

 _—kiss her_. Betty held her tightly, and their mouths clung, and together they tasted richly tangy, like an umami lemon drop, and Veronica couldn’t stop laughing, even as Cheryl pounded on the door and made the scarf rack rattle, fussing and saying something about _it’s been over fifteen minutes you skanks_ , and Veronica thought, out of nowhere, _you know Riverdale is turning out way better than the Upper West Side._

“So what are you doing after, after the after-party,” Betty said into her mouth, her own hips twitching through the wads of pink fabric, and Veronica thought about Betty still not wearing any fucking _panties_ and her mouth watered.

“Driving you home and messing you up, cheerleader,” she answered, focusing her gaze on Betty’s smeared eyeshadow, and they smiled at each other, fingers entwined, and Veronica couldn’t have told you Archie Andrews’s name if her life had depended on it.

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, nothing would be possible without the world's best betas, [Betts](http://bettydays.tumblr.com) and [Ship](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com). I'll be laughing about Mr. Tumnus forever thanks to you two nerds.
> 
> This is dedicated to Anne; to Ms. B., who _better not be reading it_ ; and most of all, to fucking [Chad](http://bert-and-ernie-are-gay.tumblr.com/post/156419624971/ive-followed-you-a-while-and-you-really-do-not).
> 
> Now with its [very own handy rebloggable link](http://bert-and-ernie-are-gay.tumblr.com/post/156463781506/seventeen-minutes-in-heaven), for all your tumblr needs! Come find me and let's cry about Jughead together.


End file.
